


Possession: A Creepypasta X Reader Series

by Curious_Prose



Category: Creepypasta - Fandom
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Multi, Post-Apocalyptic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-19
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-04-21 12:00:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4828367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Curious_Prose/pseuds/Curious_Prose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Apocalyptic AU (Alternate Universe): You've been on your own for as long as you can remember. Survival has always been your priority at the cost of isolation. Deep down, you know you're scared, you know you want a way out. By chance, you cross paths with yet another monster in this world - but this one is different. Once they enter your life, things change for the better and the worse. With so many monsters in the world, will it really hurt to add just one more to your life? (AU inspired by Fallout, Bioshock, similar stories. Setting picked for more freedom with interactions and Creepypasta characters)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Welcome Home

Home was a small town with a handful of families, and an even bigger handful of individuals who'd lost their way. 

Home was a dusty trail with a beaten up van on the side of the road, with a bumpy old mattress not as caked in dirt as it could have been.

Home was the basement of a drug exchange location, where you pressed a hand as firm to your mouth as possible, in hopes that those above wouldn't hear you and would leave without using their guns on each other. 

Home. . .

Home was a lot of things, but it wasn't really comfortable to you, was it? 

Time had warped this land. Sometimes you wondered, while looking at dusty relics of the past, if you'd have liked being born before things went to shit. But, when you think back to what little memories you had of parents, of a family, you feel alien. Like those images don't belong. 

You picked up enough to get by on. You knew how to read, had a good idea of what was and wasn't poisonous to eat out here, knew what radiated animals would kill you without a second thought and which ones wouldn't spare you a second glance. You knew enough about guns to avoid them and their owners, and occasionally how to take them apart when possible. 

Gun parts gave you more of an income than keeping them, and always needing more ammo. 

Most importantly, though, you had been taught how to heal people. From simple wounds, to repairing a broken nose - to looking gore in the face and repairing a gun rattled body in the wastes - you knew enough to be cocky about. 

Home was once with a man who you could very well call your uncle, perhaps a stand-in father. He was a doctor. A damn good one, too. He was rigorous and never let up. Even though you were a kid, he knew you needed these skills to survive. And, he was right. If only he were a little more sharp about his patients, maybe he'd be here today.

Your name is (y/n) and you've been met with terrible fate after terrible fate. The world was full of monsters, and you suppose you're just another one to add to the list. 

Something good has to come for you soon, doesn't it?

 


	2. Meet the Monsters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your first run-in with the dysfunctional creepypasta monsters. Who are they? Can you trust them? Will they smell like death when you try to make a move, and make you wish this world had minty fresh mouthwash?  
> Er. I mean.

| **BEN Drowned** |

"C'mon. Work with me here!" 

You crouched over a box of tangled wires and miscellaneous electronics that looked displaced in your world. You knew it was a long shot, trying to make something as silly as a game work on what little you had here. But you were deprived of entertainment, and this was the biggest, most promising pile of junk you'd had the luck to see in this world.  
And damn if you were going to make some dusty old game work. 

It felt like hours had passed before finally a promising little light turned on the old computer screen. Something seemed to register in the console component too, and you danced in pure excitement. 

Odd, broken music played and a dusty old picture appeared. Whatever kind of game this was, it was definitely now your favorite for being more than Pong or Snake. The simplistic games definitely made your day, but this was something totally new. There was a little warrior dressed in green, riding horseback - was that a sword? 

You fiddled with the dusty, eroded controller until it made something on-screen respond. Options popped up, user profiles? You saw the name "BEN" and went for it. 

You barely had a clue what you were looking at, and it wasn't long before you swore you heard a yawn, and some voice that didn't sync with anything you were seeing on screen.

"Is it that time again?"

You didn't answer. Why would you answer a game?

"Hey. I don't like being woken up for indifference." A pause. "What's wrong with this room. This place." 

You continued to mash buttons and eventually figured out how to use the sword. You grinned and giggled loudly.

"This place sucks because there isn't more stuff like this," you answered, finally. "Thank God you work. I don't even know what you are, game. You're weird and possibly broken, but I'll take it."

" _I am not broken_ ," the voice hissed. The screen suddenly acted up, static covering it, the sounds distorted. The music ran backwards and the imagery. . changed into something less pleasant than before. The room seemed to buzz and the air felt heavy with static electricity. You dropped the controller and it all turned off suddenly.

It occurred to you that this was not programming, or some gimmick you'd never encountered in gaming before. Whatever that was, it responded to you. 

You swore you heard someone laugh. And even if you looked over your shoulder, and all around the room, the source was impossible to trace. 

"What the hell. . " 

| **Homicidal!Liu** |

"20 - I won't take any less than that."

"That's practically highway robbery!" you complained. Your hands were wrung around a sack of rations you'd need for the week. "I can get a week's worth of rations for 15 or less from other vendors!"

"Yeah," the merchant laughed, his bearded face breaking into a grin. "You run along to those vendors - however many miles away they'd be." He lifted a hand over his eyes and peered left, then right toward the deserted horizon. "Yup, easy as pie to wander back and find someone like that. Without any food."

You stared him down. Eventually, your grip loosened and you set the rations back down on the makeshift merchant's stand. 

"Fine." You dug for your wallet.

"See? Everyone can be happy - for the right price." 

"Asshole," you muttered, handing him the crumpled bills. 

This tiny little wasteland village was a dime a dozen kind of place - many times you'd wandered through them. They were nicer than big cities, but this was the first time the main vendor charged more than the big cities did. 

You turned, looking down as you awkwardly tried to shove your rations into your backpack. As you did, you continued to walk swiftly away from the merchant counting your contribution. Your eyes narrowed in concentration, trying to undo this stupid little strap with one hand when. . . 

Wham!

You ran face first into someone much taller than yourself. Hitting the ground butt first, you let out a loud grunt. 

"Sorry," you call out, voice strained. You don't get an immediate answer and quickly put your rations away. "I should've been looking where I was going. Are you--"

You look up to see a hand held out to you. The owner is a young man, his face oddly obscured by a long scarf, and a hood pulled up over his head. His eyes, though, they're the most striking shade of green. You don't immediately noticing the scars around them, but once you do, it's pretty obvious. 

You shake it off and take his hand. 

"Thank you!"

"No. . problem," he answers, his voice almost strained. It's so soft you barely catch it. The young man's grip suddenly tightens for a moment, and then he lets go all together. "Watch where you're _fucking_ going next time," he suddenly growls, his voice taking a dark, aggressive turn that leaves you stunned, even after he's walked away. 

You eventually turn your head to call after him, but he's gone. Like a phantom. 

All you can see are the scattered merchants and handful of shoppers, like you. 

"Anger issues," you mutter under your breath. "Of course." 

And he looked like he could've been cute, too. . .

| **Eyeless Jack** | 

"I'd turn back if I were you." 

"Hm?" You turn around to face a merchant - one who carried the reigns of a tired old horse, dragging its hooves. 

"I just.." The woman looked unnerved, staring in your direction. "That town down there's got a real demon on its hands."

"This is the fastest way to the city, and I don't have enough water to just turn back," you argued, though calm. "What kind of demon do you mean?"

"A killer," she spat out. The woman recollected herself, patting her horse for comfort. "A man eater, people say. Real creepy sort of fucker. They say he doesn't have a face; his victims always have their innards missing. Black . . stains just appear wherever he's hit. Or, wherever he's gonna hit." 

You tense. That does sound off. And you even consider tagging along with the merchant before you. With a deep breath, you recollect yourself. You smile. 

"Consider me warned. I won't be there long, and I'll avoid the black stains. Thank you."

"Godspeed, young'un." 

You part ways, and the town appears in your sights sooner than you'd like it to. 

\----

Initially, it seems like a normal town. And then you finally see the stains - splattered, refusing to reflect light, intrusive. They' seem like they're everywhere, and people are so few and few. 

The paranoid glances make you feel unwelcome as you wander in search of a merchant or a tavern. You need some place to restock your canteens before you move on. You could also do with a better weapon. With all these talks of serial killers, you're starting to feel paranoid - even in your dreams. 

You stand close to the black spattered wall. Curious, your hand grazes the surface. Whatever it is, it's still not dry, and your fingers come away stained. Dammit! What did you expect to happen? It feels . . like oil, maybe, or mud. It's hard to say. It doesn't have a scent to it that you really recognize either. 

"Can I help you?" a gravely voice asks. 

"What?" Your head shoots up. You realize you'd been standing by an open window of a home, examining a rather morbid stain without any regard for who might be home and dealing with the omen. "Oh. Oh! I'm sorry. I just--"

"--wanted to see the stains," he finished. You couldn't really see the man, just make out his outline through slightly opened blinds. His face. . looked blue, though that couldn't be right. "As does everyone. But, perhaps it's better you don't stare so much. It can get you into trouble." 

It sounded vaguely like a threat to you.

"Will do, sir." 

"Jack," he corrected. 

"Thank you for the advice, Jack. My name is (Y/N). I'll see you around." 

"Until next time, (Y/N)."

As you walk away you feel eyes on you. The feeling doesn't go away as long as you're in town, and it worries you.


	3. Saved By Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, you've met your monster. Now, it's about time he comes to your rescue and meets all your standards, you creepypasta loving trash. (I mean this as affectionately as possible. I'm sorry. ;c)

**A/N:** Hey. I know it's been a hundred years since I updated - sorry for that. College and all. I'm not sure what everyone's expectations are out of this story, or how I handle the characters. I just want to explain up front that Ben's probably going to be very different from Liu/Sully and Jack here. Just how I interpret the character. Hope that's alright. I've also considered adding a character or two to the story, but I'm not 100% sure. I'll focus on updates before I worry about adding a character. Haha. Hope you enjoy!  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**| BEN Drowned |**  


Ever since that encounter, you’d felt on edge. You were sure it was just paranoia. Heck, you were thoroughly convinced you’d hallucinated or something. There was no way some old electronics were talking to you.  


Though . . you felt like more and more electrical oddities happened around you specifically. You would get shocked at random, which wasn’t too out of the ordinary. But, anytime you tried to salvage a battery or get a gadget to work, you’d find all the power had been drained near immediately. You would walk into a town, and suddenly all their wares and batteries would go dead too. Temporarily, at least.  


Electricity was already a rarity in most towns. Power wasn’t common, so the misfortune was overlooked. Still. . . you felt watched, unsafe.  
Today, you decided to go on a salvaging trip. Perhaps if you tinkered around in an underground shelter for a few hours, you’d take your mind off the social anxiety you’d experienced over the past week and the electrical mishaps that were typically the cause.  


As usual with these shelters, they were full of security doors kept shut, locked secrets and unforgiving terminals. Not to mention, the local wildlife always took over when humans moved out. If you saw another abnormally sized bug or vicious coyote down here you may just scream. You carried a pretty hardy crowbar with you, fond of how easy and effective it was to swing at your enemies.  


So far, the haul wasn’t promising.  


The most impressive thing you managed to find was some handgun ammo, but no gun to go with it. The second most impressive thing you managed to find were a couple of unopened bottles of old soda. You drank half of one. It was a bit acidic, but you expected as much from old soda. You decided to carry it with you, taking a sip here and there. The other was tucked away in your bag for safe keeping.  


Soon enough, a winding hallway led you to a small little room - and a great big security door barring you from entering the real juicy parts of the shelter. You were sure, just beyond this door, you’d find a whole slew of goodies just waiting for you to take them.  
A little terminal sat at an office-like desk. You checked the drawers first with false hope. Old stained papers, scrap wire and outdated money were all you could get your thieving hands on.  


You flipped on the terminal - it worked thankfully.  


“Luck’s turning around,” you assured yourself, gleeful. With a few taps and clicks, you were on your way to opening that door. Practice had taught you to always be thoughtful with terminals - hacking wasn’t a game of luck, after all. Within a few minutes you pulled all the information you needed and heard the satisfying click of the security lock disengaging. The door started to open. You stood and stretched your arms over your head.  
What a good day!  


When you heard the mechanical whirrs from the other side, you ducked down - and just barely caught sight of an armed gun turret on the other side.  


“Shit!” you screamed, the bullets barreling down on your narrow office room. The terminal cracked, sparked and exploded above your head as bullet hell rained upon you. They shot right through the flimsy, wooden barrier and you cringed against the wall with your hands over your head.  
No, no no no! You couldn’t die, not here. You had survived through these things before, dammit!  


In your panic, you put yourself low to the ground and waited it out. It’d have to stop sooner or later, right?  


Within a minute or so, it did. Cautiously, you crawled out from the desk and tried to head back down the hallway, fearful. The whirrs picked up again and you flattened against the ground, hands over your head.  


“Shit! Please, please. . .” The whirrs slowed again - they came to a halt entirely. Sparking and sputtering, the gun turret seemed to be breaking?  


“Hee hee! Wow, you sure are having a bad time aren’t you?”

  


Slowly, you lifted your head and looked up. There, leaning against the turret, was a young man in an . . interesting get-up to say the least.  


The little green warrior seemed to have come to life, though he appeared older, possibly older than you. His eyes, though, and his skin were what really set you on edge. His eyes were bloodied and tear stains marred his skin. The boy wore a large grin on his face, though, not a hint of sorrow or despair to be found. His skin had a blue hue to it, and light covered him from head to toe. He didn’t seem real, and yet there he was, standing there. Staring at you. Giggling at you.  


“Who. . ?” You were stunned.  


“Aw, you don’t remember me?” The boy disappeared in a large storm of electric crackles, only to appear in front of you in a flash of light. You felt tingles as static electricity danced across your skin. He leaned forward and grinned in your face. “You woke me up, call me a game, and then leave me all alone and you don’t have the courtesy to even recall my voice? What a selfish no good brat you are. Hah!”  


“Wait. You’re the video--”  


A stern glare from the other makes you hold your tongue. Perhaps you shouldn’t anger this. . . whatever it was, anymore than you had.  


“You were in the attic,” you corrected yourself.  


“That’s right!” The boy stood tall again and offered a hand. When you didn’t take it, he scoffed and rolled his bloodied eyes. “I’m not going to bite or shock you. Just take it.”  


You did. It was surprisingly solid and warm. As you stood, you kept ahold of his hand and gave it a squeeze.  


He slipped it out of your grip and waved it, a disgusted look on his face.  


“Alright, alright! Don’t get so friendly on me.”  


“I’m sorry -- you’re. . you’re real though.”  


“Why wouldn’t I be?” he growled. “What do I gotta do here. I already saved you from being turned into swiss cheese.” He pointed back at the turret with his thumb, a lazy look in his eyes now. “Granted, maybe I shoulda let you scream a little longer - it was sort of funny.”  


You fumed.  


“You could have stopped that at any point?!” you demanded. When he just grinned, you snagged his ear with an anxious boldness that surprised you. “That’s not very nice, kid!”  


“Oi, hey!” He tore himself away and grumbled. “I am not a kid, kid.”  


“I’m not a kid either, you jerk.”  


The two of you stare each other down. The occasional clicks and sparks from the turret are the only sounds that break up your heavy silence. Soon enough, you relinquish your glare and give up. You swear, this guy is grinning at every small victory you allow him.  


“What. . . who are you?” you asked, looking him over.  


“‘What’ is a tricky one. Maybe when I have the energy and care enough, I’ll try to elaborate,” he dismisses with a wave of his hand. “You can call me Ben, though. Good enough for ya?”  


“Sure,” you respond, on guard. With a sigh, you offer your hand. “I’m (Y/N).”  


Looking at your hand, he raises a brow. Ben takes it and yanks you forward, getting a better look at your face. His free hand is on your jaw, holding it in place.  


Your face goes hot. Though, you’re not sure if it’s from irritation, embarrassment or just because Ben himself is very warm. He lets go after a moment and snickers.  


"You’re not so bad lookin’, (Y/N). Too bad your personality doesn’t match.”  


“Could say the same about you!” you retort with a glower. “Wait. . wait, did you follow me that whole time from the attic? All these problems I’ve been having have to do with you?”  


“Don’t be silly - you can’t blame everything on me. Every time you choked up in front of someone or tripped over your own two feet trying to fix it, that’s all on you.”  


Sassy little thing, wasn’t he?  


Ben immediately turned around and looked out into the rest of the shelter. With a snicker, he was walking through the security doorway.  


“Bet I can find cooler shit than you,” he wagered, calling back at you.  


You paused, and stared after him.  


“Is. . that a challenge?”  


“Not really. Not unless you can up your search game,” Ben taunted.  


You fumed, rushing after him.  


“I’ll show you a challenge, you goddamn electric freak.”

 

**| Homicidal!Liu |**   


_Shit, shit, shit, shit!_   


How could you be so careless? How could you fucking let your guard down, especially in such a money-driven area?  


You find yourself running through the narrow hallways of an abandoned factory, not daring to look back at your pursuers. You’d made the mistake of letting on just how much in terms of supplies and cash you had on you. Unfortunately for you, word spread. One young and unequipped loner full of goodies? You were now the prime target of any scum within a mile radius. Which, in your situation, was quite a few.  


As you dashed through the halls, you felt your ankle twist under your unbalanced weight. You cried out in pain and crashed into a wall. Hearing those pursuing you pick up the pace, you righted yourself and rain on your injury.  


“C’mon sweetheart - it won’t hurt much!” one called. They were young guys, most of them. You counted maybe three in total.  
“Fuck off!” you mustered. You were not going to go down being called sweetheart by your would-be murderer. The least they could do was be honest about how badly they were going to hurt you.  


“What’d you say to me, you piece of shit?!”  


Your breathing was labored, heavy. The hallways were coming to an end as you rushed past old run down offices and made your way into the open spaces of the factory. Old machinery and turbines were littered around the open, spacious room. You dashed for the machinery first, hoping to hide somewhere in the crooks and crannies the factory had to offer.  


In a panic, you collapsed painfully beside an assembly line and crawled underneath it. You crawled until you were wedged under the line, and beside a control panel, hiding you from most angles. You hugged your knees to your chest and sucked in a breath. Even though it burned your lungs and brought tears to your eyes, you refused to let it out for fear of it echoing.  


You could hear them in the space. They were jeering, whispering amongst themselves.  


“Go that way,” one muttered. The footsteps spread out this way and that.  


You continued to hold your breath. You squinted your eyes shut. Oh, _god_ , when would they leave? When would they head further down? Why didn’t they rush to the other end already?  


A set of footsteps drew near to where you were. They were agonizingly slow. Their owner must have known, on some level, that their stalking would have some horrifying effect on you. Your body cringed and jerked as your lungs screamed for sweet release. It got so bad that your heartbeat drowned out the footsteps near entirely. You had to strain to really hear your pursuer click their tongue in dismay, and start to trot off.  


You let out the breath finally. A whine escaped you and you clasped your hands over your mouth. You let out the smallest sob. For a while, nobody came. You were safe! They had missed you.  


Thank god. Thank whatever kind of luck kept you alive all this time.  


Moving was agonizing, but you started to carefully get on hands and knees and crawl forward under the assembly line. If they were busy, they wouldn’t have time to react when you ran out the way you came, and bailed from the factory. If you could just make it out, they wouldn’t be able to track you. . .  


**Bang!**   


Someone jumped atop the assembly line and rushed your way.  


You screamed in fear and suddenly arms shot out from your blindside. You were yanked out by the arm, and by the hair, kicking and screaming all the way.  


“Get off! Take everything just get off!”  


A swift kick to your stomach silenced you. You gagged and sobbed loudly, head throbbing. Three shadows descended upon you. Three sets of greedy eyes and hands went to work on you. One assailant held you down and gave you a solid punch across the face. You felt blood leak from your nose. Something crunched when they punched you.  


Another figure was at your bag, dumping the contents out and whooping at their newfound catch.  


The third stood over you. Their foot clasped down over your throat, applying just enough pressure to make you gag.  


“Shouldn’t have fucking ran with your tail between your legs,” they taunted. Your vision was going blurry, but you could make out dark hair in a ponytail. You could hear their voice - definitely female. The heel of their boot was uncomfortable and dug into your flesh.  


“You picked a great place to die - just like a dog,” she continued, shifting some of her weight onto you. “You guys think we should put the bitch down?”  


“Not yet,” a man chuckled. “You think we can sell ‘em for anything? Use ‘em?”  


The three bantered about your fate and you reached up to the woman’s foot. As you tugged, the woman suddenly lifted her foot - and kicked you again with it.  


“Quit struggling!” She moved to kick you again and you shut your eyes. No kick came. Instead, you felt trickles of warm sickly blood hit your face, and heard the dying gurgles of the woman above. You shot up and opened your eyes to see a knife lodged in her throat. Her eyes were wide and her mouth was agape like a fish as she fell backwards and limp. The blood was everywhere and was slick on the floor like oil.  


The other two howled in fear and anger, looking for the assailant. Where had that knife come from?  


Another of your attackers suddenly dropped, a second knife shoved into their back. This time, your saviour was visible.  


A familiar scarf and pair of green eyes greeted you, if only for a moment, before the young man bent down to rip his knife free again.  


The final attacker backed up, stared at his fallen companions, and turned to run. Not without picking up your bag, though.  


Your hero threw the knife in his hand - and it hit. It dove into the thief’s skull and he collapsed with little warning. Without a word, the murderer collected his knife from the woman’s throat first, before turning to look at you. You were still on the floor, trying to breath. You were wheezing, gasping - what had just happened, and why? Were you even safe at this point?  


“Are. . . you okay?”  


His voice was unbelievably soft for a man who’d just killed three in cold blood with such skill you had never seen before. The concern shocked you. You couldn’t form words, so you nodded.  


On a dime, the softness in his eyes hardened and he turned away from you.  


“You’re a fucking idiot, you know -- why don’t you carry any heat on you?”  


You were silent. You shook and watched the man walk off toward the third dead body. He knelt and tore his knife out, wiping it clean on the man’s clothes. Both knives were put back in sheaths on his belt. The man lifted your bag from the floor and slowly stalked back to you. It was dropped at your feet, carelessly.  


“Can’t you fucking talk?” he growled.  


“Thank...you.” You coughed.  


“Don’t mention it,” he murmured. “Seriously, don’t. I don’t want to make a habit of this if I can help it. You’re trouble.”  


The man shook his head suddenly - frowning. As if he didn’t agree with what he just said.  


“No, Sully . .no I.” He knelt, looking you in the eye. “I - Liu - needs to know. Are you okay? Really okay?”  


His words confused you.  


“I’m . . . I’m . . “ Your eyelids fluttered closed and you collapsed. You felt a warmth and clung to it. The smell of another human relaxed you, and you fell asleep in the confusing man’s arms. All you could hear was argumentative mumbling before everything went quiet. 

 

 

**| Eyeless Jack |**

“It _would_ be raining.”  


Your intent was to leave town as soon as you had refilled your canteen and picked up some supplies. The holes in your plan appeared swiftly - solving them was about as effective as trying to plug holes in a boat with your fingers. There was water, yes, but the suspicious locals chased you off after filling only half your canteen. You were an outsider, and they were in a time of crisis.  


_Why don’t they just leave_ , you wonder. Looking up at the sky full of angry clouds, and down at the muddied puddles scattered across town, you suppose they’re just as cursed to stay here as you are.  


Your temporary refuge is one of the marked buildings in town. It wasn’t like you had much choice. No one in town was about to open their doors to you. Though you couldn’t find any corpse, there was still the old smell of rust and blood in the back room, and a suspicious stain all over the mattress. You opted to sleep on the ground in the main room instead. There was a dusty rug there that wasn’t very comfortable, but you welcomed it over a bed of dried gore.  


Sleep would come eventually. The sooner you fell asleep, the sooner you’d wake up and leave this off-putting town.  


. . Though, as you squint your eyes shut and roll over, your mind trails back to one person you met here. The deep voiced stranger, the one without a face. Out of everyone in town, he was by far the most cordial - and that wasn’t saying much, but still. It wasn’t often you came across someone in the wastes who was soft spoken and level headed, especially in a dire situation like this town faced.  


The man had been inside one of the marked homes as well. It was possible that he’d lost someone there. Or, maybe, he was marked for death himself. Neither idea really sat right with you, though. Could he. . . ?  


No, that would be too obvious. A murderer wouldn’t hang around the scene of the crime in broad daylight, would they?  


You turn again. Thinking about this was too stressful. At this rate, you wouldn’t be getting any at all.  


You’re about to sit up when you suddenly catch the sound of approaching footsteps. You remain still. With horror, you realized the front door is to your back. The footsteps come swiftly, and suddenly come to a halt just outside the door. There’s a moment of silence as you slowly try to turn your head to look.  


Before laying down for the night, you had the foresight to barricade the door with the bedroom dresser. It was fairly heavy - at least enough to keep whoever this was from breaking in, right?  


The doorknob twists and the door clanks immediately against the dresser. You hold your breath. You can see your backpack across the room but you dare not scramble after it and risk making a racket. The door shakes a bit. Whoever’s out there seems to realize there’s no way to budge the door and they relent. You let out a sigh of relief.  


They’ll leave now, right?  


The door suddenly thrusts forward again and the dresser creaks. The wood in the door shudders and breaks somewhere, and, to your horror, the dresser is tipped over and falls with a loud bang to the floor. The door is ajar enough for the shadowed, hulking figure to step inside the room.  


You scramble backwards immediately toward your backpack, drawing their attention. You pull the bag into your lap and began fumbling for a weapon of some kind, any kind!  


“Lucky for you, I already have my kill for the night,” the figure growls out. That voice is fairly familiar. Your eyes adjust to the darkness and you realize this is that same stranger from before - carrying a body over his shoulder. The curious blue you saw before turns out to be a mask - a very strange one at that. It covers his face, completely, and the eyeholes. . . God, the eyes. Two dark pits with no light going in or out bore down on you with no sign of emotion - nothing human, anyway.  


With a few heavy steps, the stranger walks further into the room and breaks the distance between you both.  


“Stay back!” you demand. In your hand, you grip a gun -- well, part of one anyway. All the ammo and some of the parts are missing. You planned to sell this shell of a weapon next time you got the chance. But, maybe it’d work as a deterrent.  


The stranger walks right past you, into the bedroom. There’s a loud thump and a series of squeaks as the limp body is dropped atop the mattress.  


“If you’re going to continue to wave false threats my way, I might consider bagging you up for the road,” the stranger warns, his voice having a dull quality to it. Like he’d made these sort of threats before.  


His attention appears to be on the body - which you recognize. It’s one of those young men who were left in town, one of those who chased you off from filling your canteen. One of the mean ones. His mouth hangs open. The crimson red pooling inside and the glazed over look in his eyes are about all you need to see.  


When he removes a medical blade from his back pocket and starts to cut away and strip the body, you take it as your cue to hastily pack your bag and leave. Immediately.  


You drop something and hear it thud and roll away from you. You don’t care. You stumble for the door.  


As you reach it, you hear his voice again.  


“Where did you get this?”  


You’re whirled around before you can speak, or even think. How does he move so fast?! Your wide eyes meet the black voids and you stutter incoherently.  


Jack holds up the item in question. It’s medicine. Anesthetic specifically.  


“I. . .”  


“Steal it?” he guesses, an amused growl.  


“No,” you answer. There’s a noticeable pause. “No, it’s not stolen. It’s mine. I got it from a merchant - family friend.”  


“High quality,” he notes, musing over the discovery. He eyes you for a moment. “Who’s this merchant? Where would I find him?”  


“Her,” you correct with a mumble. “I can take you there.”  


Jack pauses.  


“Awfully generous. And here you were about to run out the door. What are you after?”  


“Protection,” you blurt out. You eye the body on the mattress with a grimace. “You’re the one everyone’s talking about, the one they’re scared of.”  


He gives no answer, instead turning back to the body and returning to the room, medical tool in hand. Jack slips the anesthetic in his pocket.  


“I need to get there anyway - to the city,” you explain with a shaky tone. You take a few steps toward the room. “I’m not great on my own. I can get you more of this, whatever else -- but I need some security out here.” You swallow. “Can I trust you?”  


The scalpel is driven into the body’s torso, drug along, and cuts open the man’s torso down the middle. Jack’s gloved hand traces along the gushing cut.  


“I can make a deal - it’s entirely up to you to hold your end of the bargain,” Jack warns. “As a doctor, I question your self preservation skills severely.”  


“..You’re a doctor?” You flinch as the blade cuts deeper into the dead body before you. Jack reaches inside the lower abdomen and pulls out a dark, richly colored organ. You feel bile rise in your throat.  


“Was, I suppose.” Jack raises his free hand to tip up the mask. To your horror, his mouth is equipped with sharp teeth, fangs. They sink into the freshly extracted liver and blood pours down Jack’s chin. “Can’t be much of a doctor when your would-be patients are now your meal.”  


He doesn’t look surprised when you collapse to the ground and your vision fades to black. Jack hardly reacts.  


“You’ll have to be less squeamish, (Y/N). I don’t expect you to last long in this deal otherwise.”  


With those words, your world goes silent.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here goes. I'll try to keep notes brief. 
> 
> I've written fanfiction in the past but never posted a reader insert, let alone a creepypasta fanfiction. I hope it's fun, since my goal was to have fun with it - and put it in a world that made more sense to me for these characters. 
> 
> Feedback is appreciated. Thanks! : )


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